BOOM
by Cinlat
Summary: When Vik and Cormac put their heads together on a new project, Havoc Squad usually reap the benefits. However, getting to that point can be a little . . . explosive.


**A/N:** This is a gift fic for DimiGex, who wanted more bro moments involving Cormac, Vik, and explosives. I simply couldn't resist a request like that. So I stayed up way too late writing it.

* * *

Cormac's head snapped forward when Vik smacked him. "Shut up, you wanna' wake up the boss?"

"It wasn't me," Cormac protested, desperately trying to shut the C2-N2 droid up. He and Vik knelt on the floor beside the protocol droid in the cargo bay. The blasted thing had come on, demanding to know what they were doing, and if he could be of service. Balic jammed his pliers into the servos in the back of the droid's chassis, and the eye lights flickered out.

Cheeks puffed out as Balic sat back on his heels. "I thought we disabled him."

Vik muttered in a language that Cormac didn't catch and bent back to his task. Generally speaking, the two soldiers preferred not to work on this sort of thing when Jorgan and Elara were around. Fynta usually encouraged them, as long as it wasn't on the ship. They were walking the edge of the blade by working on this project aboard the Thunderclap.

In their defense, Havoc squad had been floating around Wild Space for seven weeks, and there was absolutely nothing to do. So, Vik and Cormac tinkered. The Weequay had come up with a brilliant new idea for cleaner burning flashbang grenades. A brighter light, louder concussion, but less smoke to disorient the user. The only problem being, they didn't have all the components he needed, and Fynta had made them off load most of their raw material to ensure they followed her rules.

Cormac had remembered that older droids used Zypolene lubricant on their joints, and while C2 was up to date on all his programming, his body style definitely qualified as older. Zypolene had been recalled a few years earlier due to health hazards to certain species. However, Cormac wagered there was a chance that the droid still had enough in its nooks and crannies for what they needed. If mixed with the right cleaning agent, Zypolene could, theoretically, become volatile.

The two soldiers worked silently in a dark corner of the cargo hold. Cormac held the light, while Vik loosened the fasteners on the gleaming frame. In a few minutes, the Weequay lifted the chest plate away, shoving it at Cormac.

"Shabuir," the big man muttered, shaking out the fingers that Vik had jammed against the metal. He put the casing aside, then leaned over with the light.

"Well," Vik nodded towards the inner workings of their protocol droid. "This was your idea."

Cormac bit back his smart assed reply, settling instead for a glare as he handed Vik the light. Taking a deep breath, the sergeant crammed his hand between the gears. "We need someone with smaller hands," he grunted as the sharp edges of metal cogs bit into his skin.

"Feel free to wake the major. I'm sure she wouldn't mind helping," Vik snorted. "And hurry up."

"You want to give it a try?" Cormac shot back. The process of locating the joints most likely to still be coated with remnants of Zypolene lubricant was slow going. They would be located in the hard to clean areas, making it more difficult for Cormac to get to as well. Twice, he thought his hand was truly stuck, and had to wiggle his fingers side to side to find better access.

Finally, something slimy slid over Cormac's fingertips. The big man rubbed two digits together, paying close attention to its texture. Modern droid lubricant had a smooth, oily nature, whereas Zypolene was thicker. What Cormac felt had grit embedded in it from years of dust collection, and sat heavily on the pads of his fingers.

Carefully, the man pulled back, keeping his fingers curled to avoid losing his hard won bounty. The last thing he wanted to do was dive back in for more. By the time he'd extracted his hand, the cuts had begun to sting wherever the Zypolene touched.

"Nice," Vik murmured in a gravelly voice that oozed with satisfaction. The Weequay grabbed Cormac's wrist to examine the black sludge, then directed it over a piece of wax paper, giving Cormac's arm a rough shake.

"Could've asked nicely," the man grumbled, pulling his arm out of Vik's grasp. The Weequay shrugged, bending closer to sniff at the goo, while Cormac searched for something to clean his hands. A grin crossed his face when he realized that the back of Vik's shirt would do just fine.

The Weequay shot up as Cormac turned his hands over a couple of times, wiping them down Vik's back. "You didn't bring any rags," Cormac explained, wiggling his still grimy fingers with a grin. "I had to make due."

Vik rolled his eyes. "You're buying me a new shirt. Now, come on."

Moving to their somewhat controlled workspace, Cormac poured the deck cleaner into a bowl while Vik scraped the Zypolene in with a plastic spatula. He mixed the two in slow, methodical circles, folding the ingredients together as one would a cake. Meanwhile, Cormac held his breath. Once the mixture had transformed into a thick paste, Vik straightened with a relieved sigh.

"Good work, mate," Cormac said, slapping Vik on the shoulder. The Weequay narrowed his eyes, then glanced over his shoulder to make sure nothing else had been wiped on his shirt. Cormac chuckled and held his hands out.

"Get the container," the Weequay groused.

Cormac squatted to pull a lockbox from under their makeshift workbench, coming up with an aluminium tube. The small, silver cylinder should only hold enough of the mixture to produce a small flash, no brighter than the light from a holovid recorder. But, it would give them a jumping off point for the real thing.

"I need a pinch of beryllium powder." Vik held out his hand to Cormac, fingers twitching in impatience.

"Are you sure about that?" Beryllium was temperamental enough on its own, which is why Havoc carried it in powder form instead of liquid. Adding it into the untested mixture under Vik's hands was asking for trouble.

Vik turned disdainful grey eyes on Cormac. "Who's the genius here?" Cormac snorted. "Just give me the damn powder."

Cormac did as asked and took a step back. A few more adjustments later, and Vik screwed on the cap. "She's going to be a beauty."

"Now we just need a way to test it," Cormac responded, moving closer when the device didn't explode. "You made this one underpowered, right?"

"This wouldn't blind a wamp rat on a moonless night," Vik assured. Then, the Weequay looked around with a grin. "Think we're far enough away?"

Cormac mentally calculated the distance to the commanders' closed door, not to mention Elara's. Then, factored in the probability that sound wouldn't carry that well from the back of the ship to the front. If Vik had done his job correctly, then there was a chance that no one would be the wiser to their little experiment. Cormac matched Vik's expression, and nodded towards the far corner. "Let's find out."

Ignoring common sense completely, the two soldiers situated a couple of crates and tables to provide a suitable barrier. They even donned goggles to be on the safe side. Ducking behind the table, Vik did a three count, then lobed the improvised flash grenade into the back corner of the cargo bay.

As soon as the device went off, Cormac knew they were in deep shit. He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut to the searing brightness just before the pressure wave hit him. The sergeant felt weightless, giving his mind a split second to consider just how badly they'd screwed up, then hit the wall in the hallway with teeth jarring force.

The first of Cormac's addled senses to return was smell, acrid and choking. Forcing his eyes open, the scene that greeted him made his stomach lurch. The cargo hold was on fire, which was a _really_ bad thing out in space. The next thing he noted was the sound of running, and the furious swearing as Fynta and Jorgan darted past, extinguishers in hand.

Vik sprawled on his face next to Cormac and groaned. "I think we overdid it on the beryllium," the Weequay mumbled into the floor, making no effort to get up to help rein in the chaos they'd caused.

"Balic," Elara breathed, her voice shaking with suppressed anger. "What did you do?"

"That, apparently," Cormac responded without thinking, waving vaguely towards where the commanders battled the blaze.

Eventually, Jorgan wrapped an arm around the major's waist to pull her out of the cargo hold and punched the hatch seal panel. "It's no use, Fynta." With a growl, Fynta slammed her fist into the wall, then opened the bay doors. Everything, the fire and all of their cargo, including the droid, was snatched into the void beyond.

"What the shab?" She shouted, hands out to her sides as she rounded on the sergeants. "Fierfek, Vik, you're on fire."

Fynta lunged at the same time as Elara, both women yanking the Weequay's shirt off him and tossing it to the floor. Somehow, it must have come in contact with their chemical mixture. When they couldn't stamp out the flame, Elara kicked it into the airlock and shut the door.

The major began the pressurization procedure, then rubbed both hands on her temples. "Dorne?"

"Neither appear to be seriously injured," Elara reported in a tight voice. Balic did his best to avoid either of the women's attention. Fynta loomed over him, one tanned leg, and one silver planted shoulder width apart while she glared with hands on hips. A quick glance revealed that she must be wearing Jorgan's shirt, because the Cathar had his arms crossed over his bare chest. Elara, professional as ever, wore her standard sleepwear of PT pants and a loose shirt.

"Vik has minor burns on his back," his wife continued, "And Balic might have a mild concussion." Cormac winced at the lack of compassion in her voice.

"So," Fynta began. "Nothing that would keep them cleaning up this mess?" Balic peeked at Elara in time to see her shake her head.

The major nodded, crossing her arms. "Fine. I want you two suited up and locked into position in ten minutes. You get to try out our new deep space repair suits, because I'll be damned if I'm going to lose those ammo crates."

The sergeants managed a muffled, _yes'sir_ , before both slid back to the floor. Vik chuckled after everyone left, and Cormac cast an incredulous glare at the Weequay. "Next time, we'll use less beryllium."

Cormac groaned and flopped over on his side, wondering where he'd sleep for the next few nights. There wasn't a chance in all seven Corellian hells that Elara would let him back into their room any time soon.


End file.
